Going To War
by hashtagartistlife
Summary: They are soldiers, conscripted to fight. The war wasn't going to win itself. [Ichiruki]


**This is actually the first IR fic I ever wrote. Written for a tumblr prompt + pairing meme. The prompt was 'going to war au'.**

* * *

 **Going To War**

by _hashtagartistlife_

They had never trained with the intention to kill before.

Well, that wasn't entirely true – the _killing intent_ is something that is drilled into every little shinigami, so that by the time they graduate they will be well-oiled hollow killing machines. Rukia is familiar with the weight of it on her shoulders, the way it rests, gentle and yet so draining, on the edge of her sword.

But _Ichigo_ –

One of the Zangetsus cuts an arc before her, and Rukia raises Shirayuki to parry. The _clang_ as they bounce off each other reverberates in the oppressively heavy reiatsu-rich air of the Zero Division, sounding not like metal on metal but more reminiscent of tinkling glass, of breaking ice. Their eyes meet over the blades of their swords, one pitch black, the other stark white.

"This… is different," Ichigo says, echoing her thoughts, and Rukia agrees silently. This was different. They had trained before, yes, together and apart, with other people and with each other, but never before had they had a _purpose_. Not like this. Ichigo's training so far had been either _reactive_ , in response to a disaster that he had to shape up to meet, or to regain lost powers. Hers, while closer to the kind of training they were undertaking right now, had still been _vague_ ; it focused on preparing her for one-on-one match-ups, just her against a single hollow that had to be defeated. It had never quite had the sense of impending doom and desperation that Ichibei's training carried.

This time, they are going to _war_.

"Raise your swords, Ichigo," Rukia says, and her voice is hoarse from disuse. Ichigo obliges, the fighting stance coming as easily to him as breathing now, and Rukia feels a brief flash of pain at the loss of the young boy, all gangling limbs and fierce eyes, who thought it would be a good idea to run full-tilt at a Menos and hack it till its head fell on the ground. A man stands before her now, grown into his frame; his eyes are quieter, more subdued, masking the flames that roar behind them. His swords are heavy with the blood of those he has fought – and _killed._ "I won't go easy on you."

A trace of a smile ghosts across his lips, and he shifts on his feet. "I could say the same to you," he says, and then they're both charging, him wild and ferocious, she restrained but with a savage kind of elegance in her moves, and the air around them sizzles as their blades meet again and again, each meeting denoted by a loud hiss and a burst of steam as his fiery reiatsu clashes with her ice-cold strength–

"Is that the best you can do, Ichigo? I've had better sparring matches with a cat!" Rukia calls out, even as she ducks under another swing of his blade. He is unused to fighting with two swords, and this makes him clumsy; a dangerous thing to be prior to battle. She stabs at his torso, and he barely parries in time.

"Of course you have, the only cat that you know is Yoruichi and I know better than to cross her," he replies thickly, before launching a series of attacks with renewed vigor. Shirayuki's white ribbon dances between them as Rukia meets every slash and jab of his blade.

And then– _there_. For a split second, his grip on Zangetsu - the left one, his nondominant hand unused to the weight of a blade - slips, and Shirayuki _twists_ just so and the blade is flying out of his hand. Rukia takes advantage of the momentary loss of composure as only a seasoned soldier can; in moments she has disarmed him completely and the edge of her sword rests against his jugular. She has stepped in close for this manoeuvre, close enough to feel the heat of his body along the entire line of hers. Close enough that should he wrap his arms around her and she discard her blade, it would be a lover's embrace.

She shakes off the thought; discomfited, she withdraws Shirayuki and walks away. Now was not the time for such thoughts; not when the entire world was on the brink of collapse and Ichigo was still being bested by _her s_ wordsmanship. Lieutenant though she was, she knew her swordplay still left much to be desired. "You would be dead had this been in earnest. You're still not used to wielding two blades–"

"– who says I surrendered?" Ichigo says, and too late Rukia whips around to see his figure – just a black blur, really – tackle her to the ground, pinning her sword-arm above her head. An easy press on her tendon has her releasing her grip on Shirayuki with a cry of pain, and internally Rukia is cursing herself because she shouldn't have taken her sword away from his neck without hearing 'I surrender' from his lips. But when it comes to rookie errors, Ichigo is making plenty of them himself. His expression shifts from 'hardened warrior' to 'concerned seventeen-year-old' in an instant, and Rukia braces her back against the ground and _surges–_

And now she's on top of him, forearm pressing against his windpipe as her other hand scrabbles desperately for her sword because she _knows_ this position is untenable, and any moment his larger strength was going to overwhelm her–

Her hand closes around a hilt and Rukia springs away from Ichigo's body, but the texture against her palms is all wrong, nothing like Shirayuki's ornate handle. Something that feels like a tongue of flame pulls down her spine as she looks at her hands to see them wrapped around _Zangetsu_.

"Rukia–" his voice sounds choked for some reason, but Rukia does not analyse, does not have time to analyse. She lifts Zangetsu (feather-light in her hands; should he not weigh more than Shirayuki?) and cuts it in an arc before her. Ichigo jumps back; throws her an incensed glare.

"Who says I surrendered?" she says, and his eyes narrow, dodging another sweep of her ( _his_ ) blade before diving and rolling to the side. Rukia chases; her shunpo had always been above his, but she is stopped by yet another pull down her spine (this time like scurrying frost) and when he straightens he holds Shirayuki in his hands.

"Thought we should make it even," he says, and his voice is rough and Rukia nods because she does not trust herself to speak because it hits her, suddenly, that these are a piece of their _soul_ each that they are carrying, entrusting, fighting with–

There is no more time for thought. She raises Zangetsu with a speed born from instinct as Shirayuki comes slicing down at her, and she feels the impact of their collision somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. She wonders if she would be able to fire off a _Getsuga_ with this blade; wonders if Ichigo would be able to use any of her dances. Or would it be the reverse? She almost laughs out loud at the image of Ichigo's rough-hewn blade being used for _Tsukishiro_ or _Hakuren_.

The image costs her; Ichigo uses her momentary distraction to slip Shirayuki under Zangetsu and _lift_. She barely holds on by her fingertips, but she recovers well and spins out of his reach. She hurls kido at him, but it's easy for him to dodge and soon she's back within Shirayuki's range, the two swords clashing and springing apart and clashing again.

And then she _trips_. She steps on the hem of her shihakushou, and she's teetering backwards, and even in the Royal Realm gravity is unavoidable. She's falling, and Ichigo is sensing victory, closing in, but like _hell_ she's going to lose to someone who has less than five years of battle experience and Zangetsu is whipping up faster than you could believe–

They stop, and it seems like the whole world stops with them. There's no-one else in the world but _them_ , him kneeling over her with Shirayuki poised over her heart and her lying flat on her back with Zangetsu at his neck. Their eyes are connected, and they're breathing– _panting_ – in tandem, and for a moment there are no Quincies or Soul Kings or Royal Realms or _wars_ – just them, the two of them, holding each other's lives ransom with a piece of the other's soul.

"I surrender," they breathe in unison, and Rukia lets Zangetsu fall beside her even as Ichigo collapses by her other side. She's still breathing hard as she turns to face him, and she tells herself it's because of the exertion. His amber irises are bright, and he's breathing equally hard. Almost before she knows what she's doing, she's reaching her hand up to brush his hair from his face.

"You're unused to fighting with two blades," she says, and she tries to ignore how throaty her voice is, how her concern comes out as a low rasp. She can still feel ghostly flame tracing down her spine. She pushes it aside – whatever it was could wait. But her fingers are curling around strands of his hair, and she has a nagging suspicion that the two things are related. "That's– not optimal."

"It'll get better," he replies, and if her voice is husky, at least his is equally rough. "I'll get better. I always do."

"This is different," she says, and she doesn't know if she's referring to _them_ or the war.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," he says, and she doesn't know which one _he_ 's referring to either. "Wait, shit, what I mean is – I mean, of course the destruction of the world is bad, but–"

Just like that, the tension between them is broken; Rukia withdraws her hand to cover the laughter bubbling up from inside her. She laughs till her sides ache. "Oh, Ichigo, you really have a knack for putting your foot in your mouth during serious moments," she says fondly. Next to her, Ichigo grumbles incomprehensibly.

The two of them lie in companionable silence for a while. The sky above them is blue, boundless; it makes Rukia wonder if there is yet _another_ realm up there, to fight or to save. With a start, she realises that with Ichigo by her side, neither the thought of more enemies or more responsibility fazes her. With Ichigo by her side, she is calm.

But there is a war looming on the horizon, and both of them are soldiers, conscripted to fight. Ichigo acts first; he grips Shirayuki ( _and, again, that shiver down her spine, like ice_ ) and offers it to her; his suggestion of 'rematch?' is more than a little mischievous. A smile tugs at Rukia's lips; she takes Shirayuki and hands him Zangetsu. Despite his grinning countenance, he takes it from her uncertainly; the unsettling (not entirely unpleasant) feeling down both their backs ever since the other gripped their zanpakutous has not dissipated with the reinstation of their correct owners. Neither of them mention it, and the moment passes.

"You worry too much," he murmurs, as he picks up his other blade. Despite the space they have put between them, Rukia hears his voice like he is standing just beside her. She feels it echo in the space between her bones.

"Says you," she counters, because he worries more than anyone else she's ever met, gladly carrying lives on his shoulders that should never have been his responsibility. He smiles at her ruefully.

"Can't help it," he says, before holding out his swords in a battle stance. Rukia takes up her position opposite him, Shirayuki raised high. She looks into his eyes, and there it is again – that jolt down her spine. Shirayuki vibrates in her hands.

But whatever this is, it will have to wait. Ichigo throws himself at her with a sharp cry, and Rukia responds in kind, raising her blade. There is no time to analyse, no time to think. The battle has begun, and _they are going to war_.


End file.
